Nihirai
by SkyeLight2x1
Summary: Slash DH. Prequel to Broken. An ancient prophecy culminates in the breaking of the world. A Seer's laugh shall be heard from the dawn of time, echoed by a terrible, beautiful, triumphant song of protection and love. EXTRA BIT ADDED TO CHAPTER TWO!
1. Prologue

TITLE: Nihirai  
  
RATING:PG-13 for now  
  
PAIRING: D/H eventually  
  
WARNING/AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is based around my first Harry Potter story Broken. It's going to tell the events up to, during and after Broken, but I'm pretty sure its not going to have the same ending - this time its going to be happy! You'll find pronunciations and thanks at the end.  
  
SUMMARY: 3000 years ago a prophecy was foretold by one who was reviled because of it. The story passed into legend and thence into myth, until its memory remained only in children's fairy tales and the prophecy was hidden where nobody could find it. But soon they shall be awakened and the breaking of the world shall be upon us - the myth shall know life and an old Seer's laugh shall be heard from the dawn of time, echoed by a terrible, beautiful, triumphant song of protection and love.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and its locations, characters and scenarios belong to J.K.Rowling. Any correlations with the work of somebody else are purely coincidental and I apologise for any insult.  
  
DEDICATION: This is for Merrideth, who was the only one who asked about Harry and Draco's relationship, and who asked to hear the story behind it - thank you for inspiring me to write this!  
  
**************************************************************************** *************  
  
Prologue  
  
The shadows whisper across the threshold; greedy phantom fingers licking the door frame, stroking along the walls, slowly and inexorably approaching the figure sitting cradled in darkness and fire, curled into a high-backed arm-chair, shivering in the warmth.  
  
A shaky chuckle escapes and slim trembling gnarled fingers wrap themselves tighter into the thin blanket, eyes fixedly gazing into the mesmerizing writhing flames.  
  
"Welcome," the unseen mouth whispers, and eyes dart to the doorway, to the massive shadowy figure that obscures what is outside. "You have come seeking answers again."  
  
There is no response but the woman bundled in the chair seems to receive an affirmation for she nods and turns once more to the fireplace. "You question and doubt the legend, the warning, the very power that throbs within," a raspy cough interrupts her and she cackles, "Fool! You cannot possibly begin to comprehend. It is greater than anyone has ever known and more beautiful and terrible than you could ever think possible!"  
  
"Perhaps it is you who does not comprehend, old witch." And the shadow has moved, close to the fire now, huge and all-encompassing, consuming her limited vision. "She is gone, she has been for generations and still there is no sign, no warning, no hint of what it is I must fear. And you should not taunt me - there is no one to protect you now, no reason to keep you alive."  
  
The old woman laughs and laughs, seemingly taken by a vast amusement, "You still do not believe, do you? So blind, you cannot see what is in front of your eyes, cannot even begin to understand the depth, the scope, the pure soul that is needed to *see*, to truly *see* the divine."  
  
She turns and glares at the figure, "And you do not frighten me anyway - I have seen what it is to come, do you understand? I have *seen* it. Nothing can possibly take that ecstasy, that terrible beauty away from me . . . not even you."  
  
The shadow snarls and stalks away, melting into its likenesses in the dark hidden corners.  
  
"You will understand, when it is too late, when you are upon that knife edge of fear and it is too late for anything of consequence." She calls after him, and then her voice lowers, "When you feel the very source of all that we are, you will understand, and I almost pity you for that."  
  
**************************************************************************** *************  
  
What do you think? Good? Bad? Absolutely bloody terrible? Come on, tell me, pleeeeeeeeease?  
  
Nihirai: NIH-hih-RYE  
  
Thank you also to ILoveLoudNoises (I'm very ashamed of that stupid mistake!), trulymad (Glad you like it!), Merrideth (Thank you!), Tgerlilli (Thank you, I hope you enjoy this), Chiaki (Look at this - I'm finally writing a multi-parter, hope you get to read it!), lampshadesrgreat (Did I make you cry, cause I seem to be able to do that - I hope that this isn't going to be a sad ending), and destinywriters (there might not be tears in this one, I don't know - maybe for once I'll be able to write a happy ending) for reviewing 'Broken'. I didn't get to thank you earlier for them. I appreciate the comments - it gives me hope that maybe my writing isn't utter crap, and is actually something well worth taking the time to read. 


	2. Chapter One: The Beginning

TITLE: Nihirai  
  
RATING: PG-13 for now  
  
PAIRING: D/H eventually  
  
WARNING/AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is based around my first Harry Potter story Broken. It's going to tell the events up to, during and after Broken, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to have the same ending – this time its going to be happy! You'll find pronunciations and thanks at the end.  
  
SUMMARY: 3000 years ago a prophecy was foretold by one who was reviled because of it. The story passed into legend and thence into myth, until its memory remained only in children's fairy tales and the prophecy was hidden where nobody could find it. But soon they shall be awakened and the breaking of the world shall be upon us – the myth shall know life and an old Seer's laugh shall be heard from the dawn of time, echoed by a terrible, beautiful, triumphant song of protection and love.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and its locations, characters and scenarios belong to J.K.Rowling. Any correlations with the work of somebody else are purely coincidental and I apologise for any insult.  
  
DEDICATION: This is for Merrideth, who was the only one who asked about Harry and Draco's relationship, and who asked to hear the story behind it – thank you for inspiring me to write this!  
  
**************************************************************************** *************  
  
Chapter One: The Beginning  
  
"Perplexity is the beginning of knowledge" – Kahlil Gibran  
  
The sun beat down strong rays on Harry's back, and he could feel his scalp growing hot, the blackness of his hair offering no protection at all. He smiled blissfully as he felt the warmth encompass him as he bent to the flowerbeds, and he started to hum as he engaged himself fully in his task. Aunt Petunia had ordered him to see to the new summer flowers that were just blooming, their petals tender and new, and requiring careful attention. He plunged his fingers into the dark cool soil, feeling the brush of a worm and delighting in the sensation of the roots curling around his fingers.  
  
It had always been this way with him. Gardening felt like he was giving life; he felt good that at least something in this world was not in danger from mere contact with him. He lifted his fingers from the soil and turned to the bag of compost, before stopping with a frown. He could have sworn he felt . . . . something, something to do with the plant roots . . . . were they . . . protesting? He turned back, lips pursed in thought, and reached out to stroke a finger along one of the delicate petals. The response it called forth from somewhere made him gasp and he jumped back, eyes wide. He had felt an . . . . awareness of some kind, a tingling at the back of his mind.  
  
He frowned again, staring at his hand and then at the flower in consternation. Something told him that this wasn't meant to be known by anyone, something deep inside that protested at the very thought. This felt, private, his and his alone; it didn't feel right to tell anyone else about it, not even one of his best friends. Upset, and vaguely disturbed at the knowledge of even more secrets, he turned to look out over the street, taking in the sunlit beauty of the cultured gardens that still didn't feel right to him.  
  
He was greatly looking forward to going to the Burrow this year – the yearning for something that felt like home was stronger than ever, which was confusing, considering the sadness and confusion that awaited him in the Wizarding world. Nevertheless, the fact remained that, no matter how distressing being there was, Hogwarts was home, and most likely always would be.  
  
"Boy! Get on with that gardening! Petunia expects those flowers to be perfect for our visitors tonight!"  
  
Sighing, Harry returned to the flower bed, offering no response. Uncle Vernon didn't like to hear him talk nowadays, and he himself didn't want to, not when there was a possibility of things becoming unpleasant. And he didn't want to spoil this wonderful weather; the sun embracing him from behind as he bent to care for the plants once more.  
  
**************************************************************************** *************  
  
He fell onto the dubious softness of his mattress with a huff, closing his eyes and drifting to the sound of his aunt and uncle entertaining, Aunt Petunia's false laugh ringing up the stairs.  
  
Turning onto his side and digging his fingers into his pillow he reached out, searching for that awareness, but frowned when the feeling eluded him. Instead, he slipped deeper into a trance, trying to find what he was looking for within, a smile hovering about his lips when he felt it, quiescent, but there. It confused him, this new feeling and he really wanted to know what it meant.  
  
He sighed, disappointed that he wouldn't be able to feel it again. No matter how fleeting the contact with it, it had been remarkable, magnificent, and he had felt alive and at peace; a strange connection birthed, filling him with life and . . . . unbelievable sorrow.  
  
He rolled over onto his back, thumping his heels against the mattress in frustration, listening once again to Aunt Petunia's laugh, accompanied this time by Uncle Vernon's and, if he strained hard enough, he could hear dear Cousin Dudley's as well. What fun. Listening to his relatives enjoy themselves was *not* Harry's idea of a fun summer holiday – a typical one, yes, but not a fun one.  
  
The green-eyed boy determinedly closed his eyes, resolved to at least try to sleep, even if he did experience nightmares – he needed the rest, for Aunt Petunia was sure to wake him early in order to do the dishes and any other tasks that she needed done *immediately*. Snorting under his breath, he snuggled deeper into the necessarily thin blanket, his breath slowly deepening as his mind became clouded and fuzzy.  
  
But as he drifted off, his aunt laughed again, and her high teeth- grindingly irritating cackle seemed to echo, fading into his consciousness. It deepened and appeared to come from far away, or more accurately, although he didn't know why he thought this, from long ago. The laugh seemed to branch out in his subconscious, stirring parts of him that he didn't know existed. It sounded triumphant and gleeful, as if it had waited an interminable time for something, and now that something had finally arrived and it was rejoicing.  
  
He sleepily frowned as he fell into an even deeper slumber, his subconscious guiding him into the dream world, where anything was possible, and he found himself wondering dazedly if that something that the laughter had been looking for had anything to do with him . . . .  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
There was nothing. The black void stretched as far as eyes could see and he drifted, empty, voiceless.  
  
A vast patience filled him and he knew that he had to wait here, though it may seem an eternity before what he was waiting for arrived.  
  
Sometimes, he was not alone and the void echoed with the strangest sounds – laughter, of all things, from very far away. At other times, he was filled with promise, with hope and anticipation. Something in him was sure that he would be alright eventually, that the screaming he heard deep down inside where his soul writhed in agony would stop and all would be right again. He wasn't sure, though, what he needed, he just knew that he was yearning and waiting for something.  
  
And he knew that whatever it was he was waiting for was worth an eternity of such pain, an eternity of such emptiness, and that patience would bring its own reward.  
  
The anticipation throbbed within, and caught him up with its eagerness. He waited, and waited, with a terrible patience, for what didn't even know, and he listened to the laughter that circled him sporadically and the song that sometimes accompanied it, that never failed to lift his spirits, it's melody composed of protection and something that was meant to take care of him.  
  
And so he waited . . . . .  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Harry jerked to a sitting position, his breath sucked in with a gasp of shock, the feeling that had surrounded him in the dream still beating within his chest. He sobbed once, unable to imagine being that patient, waiting that long without complaint for something so wonderful that he could not explain it, and feeling such terrible agony during that wait.  
  
Turning, he stared uncomprehendingly out of the window at the moon, his breathing still in harsh gasps, trying to grasp the scope of the feelings that had embraced him, trying to understand what it all meant, and, when, inevitably, he failed, he succumbed to the fear and the inexplicable sorrow and sobbed out his emotions into his pillow until the dawn rays teased the horizon.  
  
Ahem. Well, what do you think? Go on, have a go at reviewing – its wonderful to hear what my readers' think.  
  
Nihirai: NIH-hih-RYE  
  
Leviathan -- Hey! I'm glad you liked it. And don't worry about the long reviews – its just a peculiar quirk of mine that I have to do so. Hope that this isn't too mysterious. I promise it'll make more sense as we go.  
  
N.U.Washa – I'm happy that it caught your interest; I hope this part catches some more of it!  
  
IBitTheMufinMan – I am so glad that this is that unique in your opinion. I hope it remains that way.  
  
Lost – I have to say, you're not really meant to yet. But thank you for reviewing anyway! 


	3. Chapter Two: A Maze of Memories

TITLE: Nihirai  
  
RATING: PG-13 for now (I think – if that's wrong, then let me know, I'm still a little rusty)  
  
PAIRING: D/H eventually  
  
WARNING/AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is based around my first Harry Potter story 'Broken'. It's going to tell the events up to, during and after Broken, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to have the same ending – this time its going to be happy! You'll find pronunciations and thanks at the end.  
  
SUMMARY: 3000 years ago a prophecy was foretold by one who was reviled because of it. The story passed into legend and thence into myth, until its memory remained only in children's fairy tales and the prophecy was hidden where nobody could find it. But soon they shall be awakened and the breaking of the world shall be upon us – the myth shall know life and an old Seer's laugh shall be heard from the dawn of time, echoed by a terrible, beautiful, triumphant song of protection and love.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and its locations, characters and scenarios belong to J.K.Rowling. Any correlations with the work of somebody else are purely coincidental and I apologise for any insult.  
  
DEDICATION: This is for Merrideth, who was the only one who asked about Harry and Draco's relationship, and who asked to hear the story behind it – thank you for inspiring me to write this!  
  
Okay, hopefully this chapter will be longer – I feel like I have a lot to say so there is a huge chance that it'll satisfy some of you out there who're probably hankering after longer chapters; I know I always am! I'm really sorry about the lateness of this – I've been going through exam revision and coursework and I've got several mock exams next week. I should be able to get the next out quicker – reviews may help to encourage the speed of my fingers!  
  
*Ahem* *looks around sheepishly* Sorry about that. Heh. Um, I was looking at the chapter and I suddenly realised that the title made no sense, and then it clicked – I had forgotten to add a fairly crucial part, so, um, here it is, reworked and with the missing parts added!  
  
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Chapter Two: A Maze of Memories  
  
"Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out" –  
Jean Paul Richter  
  
Bored. Bored bored bored.  
  
Despite what everyone else in the entire Wizarding world seemed to think, Draco Lucian Malfoy did not get his every wish and desire, nor could he do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. In fact, his life was probably even more strictly governed, his fun even more strictly timetabled than most of the other teenage wizards in the world.  
  
And he hated it. Doing what his father said when his father said it. Going out only with one of his parents for an important function or shopping trip. He was watched constantly, although some of the House Elves took pity on him and allowed him to wander unseen through the mansion, lying to his father about what he was doing. He didn't let them do it that often, though, because he knew that if his father found out, they would be punished, and he didn't enjoy seeing them squeal as Lucius kicked them down the stairs or beat them with his cane, the vicious silver snake head cutting deep into their fragile skin.  
  
Some House Elves did it any way, though, like Dobby. He missed Dobby; the somewhat rebellious House Elf had been nice company on days like this, and always tried to make sure that Draco was happy. He was, however, pleased that the Elf had been freed, even if it had been done by Potter, which he was not at all pleased about.  
  
Meandering along one of the many long, seemingly useless corridors in the Manor, his hand trailing along the softly wallpapered walls, he wished that Dobby was here – just to talk to, to maybe play a game with, anything to relieve this sodding boredom that grated at his nerves like Professor Flitwick's nails on his blackboard.  
  
Bored bored bored bored BORED!  
  
Angrily, he turned towards the one place that he hoped might offer some sort of reprieve from the sheer lack of nothing within the Manor. He climbed the softly creaking staircase to the vast attic, trepidation surfacing as he remembered his father's warnings – 'Do NOT go in the attic, Draco. It is unwise to disturb the ghosts of the past.' – and shivered, picturing once again the serious look on Lucius' face.  
  
He opened the door slowly, wary of whatever might be drifting through the dust motes, but he found only several boxes and trunks stacked neatly throughout the room, some covered with dust sheets and others with a layer of dust, the occasional spider-web catching the light from the narrow windows. The House Elves only cleaned up here once every two years, as Lucius did not see the need to subject this room to the same treatment the others received when people visited it much less.  
  
He wandered aimlessly through the various containers and occasionally twitched a dust sheet or brushed a spider-web from its mooring place until he reached a box that seemed to shimmer, as if catching the afternoon sunlight perfectly, reflecting it back to all corners of the room. Curious, he approached it and reached out towards the clasp, flicking it open and lifting the lid. Inside there was a lot of books piled haphazardly, as if his father, or some other ancestor, had been worried about the contents and had hurriedly put them all into this container and shoved it into the attic.  
  
One book in particular caught his eye, its gilded edges attracting his attention, as all things gold did. Reaching for it, he lifted it out of the case, his hands brushing away the accumulated dust. The script on the front of the leather cover was elegant and gothic in style, and the title was as clear as it probably had been when it was first made; time's ravages had done nothing to harm its splendour, and yet he sensed no preservation spell, nor the effects of a potion.  
  
He curiously opened the cover and a delicious musty scent drifted up to meet him: the smell of old book and perfumed ink. 'Legends of Old' was the title, repeated once again in the gothic script on the first page – there was no author mentioned, nor any dedications or prefaces. The next page went straight into the first story, and as Draco read its spellbinding words, something tugged at his heart; like the story it told was familiar, and not in the sense of it being a story told to him as a child, but something deeper and far more poignant...  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The Tale of Rihindyl  
  
Long ago, before the world was remade, there was a Temple of Mages, famed throughout the world for its generosity towards those with magic, and for the skill of the people who lived and worked within it. Called Rihindyl, after the star that people believed was responsible for blessing mages with their power, it not only trained those with magic but also protected a mysterious power, known only as Nihirai.  
  
Plentiful in those days as they are no longer were Seers; true ones, with great power and eyes as ancient as time. Ycarn was one such Seer and she was particularly blessed, bearing a mark upon her inner wrist – two stars, intertwined. But her power soon became her curse, when she foretold the fall of Rihindyl and Nihirai by way of a fierce attack from a Dark Force, and from these dreadful events would result the breaking of the very world. But she saw a beacon of hope; somehow, Nihirai would return and exact vengeance upon the Dark Force.  
  
Her prophecy earned her nothing but derision and she was cast out of Rihindyl, cursed to live forever to see that what she had predicted would not come to pass. Desolate and alone, Ycarn sought shelter from the disaster that she knew was coming; even if her fellow mages had called it heresy and claimed that their gods would never allow them to fall, and that no force that powerful or that dark would have gone unnoticed by them, she was certain of the truth in her vision.  
  
Despite the Temple's constant denials the Dark Force came and a trail of destruction followed it. It sundered the Temple and sought, but found no trace of Nihirai. Something in the Temple's destruction caused great tremours in the earth, and, within days of Rihindyl's fall, the world broke. Volcanoes exploded and the earth shook, and hurricanes and tornadoes and tsunamis tore the world to pieces.  
  
But two things survived – Ycarn and the Dark Force. The latter had heard of the Seer and her prophecy and sought her out, sure that she, and she alone, knew what had become of Nihirai; that mysterious power that could pose so much danger for the darkness. And it discovered that in fact three things had survived – Nihirai had known that the Dark Force was coming, and had also known that she was not powerful enough to withstand the assault, and so she had hidden somewhere that even Ycarn had not known about.  
  
Furious, the Dark Force attempted to kill Ycarn, but found that it was impossible to do so, for the curse that her fellows had placed upon her had taken effect – Ycarn could not die until that which she had predicted came to pass.  
  
And so she waits, the knowledge that she carries a heavy burden, but worth all the trials she has gone through, for she considers seeing the destruction of the Dark Force and the glorious return of Nihirai considerable reward for her patience, even if she has to endure constant visits from the darkness that waits also and desires only Nihirai's fall, visits where it demands from her, time and again, any knowledge she possesses about that mysterious power.  
  
But soon, Nihirai shall return and all the world shall sing with joy, and the Dark Force shall scream with rage and terror as it is smote down, punished for its crimes.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Draco drew himself out of the story, for some reason feeling its rhythms beat in his very bones. It was called a legend, and he vaguely remembered it being classified as a fairy tale at some point, but there was something about it that rang truer than he though was possible, that seemed to speak to him, that seemed inexplicably *right*.  
  
He browsed through the other stories written in the book, but found nothing of any particular interest; just old legends that had been passed down through pureblood Wizarding families for a very long time, ones that every child in Slytherin and some in Ravenclaw knew. But he was sure that only the most select few had even heard a whisper of the tale of Rihindyl and Ycarn – it was extremely old and thus a lot had been lost, in fact it was likely that the version he had just read was completely different from the original, as warped as stories became after passing through time.  
  
But something about that particular tale drew him, kept him returning to the soft pages that detailed the legend so beautifully. Again and again he turned back to the start of the book, wanting to read it once more, to reaffirm its existence. He didn't know where this curiosity had come from – usually he wasn't at all interested in the past (History of Magic was *the* most boring lesson *ever*) but this particular section of it had inexplicably caught at his interest, and he found himself almost believing in it.  
  
Resolved to try and discover more about Rihindyl and Nihirai and Ycarn, he decided to take the book to his room and attempt to glean even more knowledge from its pages until he could go to the vast Wizarding bookshops in Diagon Alley or even Knockturn Alley.  
  
He scooped up the book in his hands, closed the trunk that it had come from and stood up. Turning, he swept towards the door, the hem of his robes dragging slightly in the dust. But as he turned the handle and exited the room he failed to notice the trunk in the corner growing brighter in the flame of sunset, before shimmering pearly white and vanishing slowly, fading away into the light until nothing remained where it had lain.  
  
**************************************************************************** *************  
  
Storming into his bedroom Draco chucked the book on the bed, a feeling of elation encompassing him – his mother had finally let him go outside, and he was going to spend the few hours wandering that damn maze that he had not yet conquered, despite the fact that he had actually been here his entire life. The Malfoy Maze was famous among pureblooded families, simply for the fact that no one in living memory had *ever* made it to the centre.  
  
He'd been trying to get his mother to let him go out there for days, ever since the start of the summer, but this was the first actual time that he would be allowed – he *really* wanted to see what was at the centre; it had to be something completely mysterious and definitely worth all the effort that all his ancestors had put in to getting there.  
  
He slipped into Muggle jeans (the finest ever made, of course) and a thin white sleeveless top before tugging on a comfortable pair of walking boots and grabbing a hat to shield himself from the blazing hot sun. He took one last glance at the book on his bed and hesitated. Maybe... maybe he should remove it from plain sight. One never knew what his father would disapprove of next, and he felt instinctively that this would something that would earn him a particularly vicious lecture.  
  
Sighing in annoyance, all the while glancing behind him in slight fear, as if feeling his father looming over his shoulder, he lifted the book from the bed and tucked it into the lowest drawer of his nightstand, amongst several approved Potions books. Then he turned and raced out into the garden, eager to get started, and sure that *today*, today would be the day that he reigned victorious over that bloody maze.  
  
**************************************************************************** *************  
  
Panting, Draco slowly sat down in the soft grass at one of the crossroads in the maze. He lifted his hat off his head and wiped at the beads of sweat gathered at his hairline. God, he'd forgotten how hot it got out in the maze with no shade when the direct sunlight shone on it. He leaned back against the hedge and wished he's brought a bottle of water out with him or a fan of some kind.  
  
He almost felt like giving up, waiting for another day; when it wasn't so hot, perhaps. But something in him drove him on – it felt like if he could do this, then he could do anything; face his father, choose his own life and career, even – and this was something that was buried deep in his heart – even refuse the Mark.  
  
Standing up, he forged ahead in a kind of trance, his feet leading the way, turning right and left without his say so. They did not falter, guided by something *other*, something definitely not within him. Yet he felt no panic – it was not Imperius because, unlike Harry Potter, he could not break that curse, and he'd never heard of any other spell that could control you in this manner. Besides, he knew exactly what he was doing, and could, if he chose, decide not to follow the strange compulsion... but... it felt... right, somehow. As if this was meant to be happening, and he shouldn't fight it, and he would come to no harm, but in fact he would be safer.  
  
It was strange, but exhilarating. And secret, like the beautiful leather- bound book hidden among Professor Snape's extra reading. All his – nobody else was to know that story, nor feel the way that he was feeling now.  
  
Suddenly, the feeling gave out, and he was left feeling a distinct sense of loss. Like something that was meant to be his had left him all alone to blunder along blind to everything that mattered. But all of a sudden that feeling didn't matter, surpassed by the true amazement and wonder when he realized that he was at the centre of the maze.  
  
It was beautiful. A carefully sculptured marble fountain in the centre – nothing so crass as angels or knights or cherubs, but simply a woman in a flowing gown that almost seemed to ripple with the wind, her hands raised high, her face raised in ecstasy, mouth wide in joyful laughter, her eyes closed, and the water that streamed from her hair seemed almost like tears. Awestruck, Draco approached the woman, sitting on the rim of the fountain and trailing his fingers in the blessedly cool water and gazing out on the rest of the picture.  
  
Flower beds were randomly placed, full of vibrant colour. The path seemed to glitter with an inner light as it circled the fountain and wound through the small clearing. There were rose bushes and lady's swings with flowering vines wrapped around the post. The grass was neat, and fresh and green, glimmering in the sunlight.  
  
But the most glorious piece was by far the fountain. Draco once again turned his shining eyes to her, reaching out to stroke the pristine white marble of her dress. But as he did, he noticed an inscription on the wide girdle of her gown and he leaned closer to decipher it, fiercely and inexplicable interested in what this wonderful, beautiful woman would have to say.  
  
*Whosoever reaches my resting place, know that I knew such joy and happiness in this place. I am honoured that my final task should be to play a part in Your life, my Lord. Do not despair, You shall know such ecstasy as surpasses all mortal imagination, though You shall remember such pain as no mortal has ever considered. Know, however, that You are blessed with Life's grace, and that You shall live in glorious times.*  
  
Draco caught his breath, the words striking a deep bell inside him that resonated in his soul. Glancing up once again at the beautiful joyful face, he wondered wistfully if he would ever be that happy, if he would ever deserve to experience the joy that this unknown woman did. Blinking away a few tears, he turned his mind to the curious inscription – he wondered who exactly she was talking to, and if she was a prophet of some kind, or someone who believed that Merlin was a god. (It did not occur to him that she might be Muggleborn, and thus believe in their God – they were in Malfoy Manor, after all.)  
  
Dismissing the problem from his mind, he turned and reluctantly left the centre of the maze, but not before taking one last lingering glance, hoping to fasten its exact likeness in his memory for times when he was sad – to remember that it was possible to live without sadness, without malice and cruelty. Sighing sadly, Draco turned and stepped out of the most beautiful place he had seen in his life, never to visit it again, the words of the woman that echoed through time burned into his memory for as long as he lived  
  
Okay, that felt much better, and longer too! Hope its appreciated! And I apologise sincerely for those who consider my using the capitalization of 'you' and 'your' an insult or a blasphemy. I am not religious, but I respect those who are, and please know that there is no insult intended – I am well aware that just because I don't believe in God doesn't mean that he doesn't exist, even if it is only in the hearts and minds of some people. But the capitalization is important, and all will be revealed in due time. (Mysterious enough?)  
  
Nihirai: NIH-hih-RYE Rihindyl: RIH-hin-DIAL (You know, like, to dial a number?) Ycarn: EE-kahn (Like the black vampire in Underworld.)  
  
Ava -- Thank you, I hope it'll get better. And I have to say that right now its meant to be confusing, but I hope that it'll get clearer soon!  
  
Dwadwadwa – Hi! Just looked at your reviews. Wow! Thank you *so* much. I appreciate such support and encouragement, and I am actually speechless. My grasp of the English language has vanished in the face of such praise. I'm glad that the stories inspire emotion – I don't consider a story entertainment unless it inspires some kind of emotion, even if its only appreciation and interest. The emotion doesn't matter, it's the fact that there's a response, you know? Anyway, thank you very much for all your reviews, and I hope you continue to enjoy my stories – I'll certainly try not to disappoint, and I hope you like the bit I added; the title makes a little more sense now, I think. (And I hate the word 'dudette' too, even though, technically, I am one, being female and all – I really should write my bio, shouldn't I?)  
  
Keikokin – Thank you so much, I really appreciate your encouragement but I really can't say anything about what Draco and Harry are gonna do, but its obviously going to be connected to Nihirai and Rihindyl and Ycarn. And no, Lucius doesn't know about it, he just doesn't approve of Draco going up into the attic – something of a family superstition, passed down from father to son (You'll see how that has its uses, although I'm pretty sure you can guess... alright, I'll tell you – nobody else was meant to find the book, just Draco, seeing as how it talks about a very strong mysterious power and all, so the superstition was implanted in the Malfoy genes at the same time as the book was planted in the attic. Only Draco would be able to overcome and ignore the superstition and thus find the book.) Whew – that was a lengthy response – I hope you've got your answers! And I'm very glad you find it interesting – I'd hoped it would be. 


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